Free The English Teacher by Yiftach Reicher Atir Page A

long neck and focus attention on her face, and a skirt with pockets, to accommodate passport and purse. But it’s impossible to think of everything, because now the light breeze forced her to use her hand to keep her skirt in place, and she drew the attention of the mechanic, who was looking up.
    To her left the porters were already at work unloading baggage, and she resisted the impulse to check that her suitcase was there. There was nothing in it to incriminate her and even its loss wouldn’t jeopardize the operation. But a suitcase that disappeared would causeunnecessary complications, and another encounter with the airport authorities, who would want to see her flight ticket and know which hotel she was going to. She bought the suitcase with Ehud and he helped her twist the hinges. “From now on you can open the case in two ways, the normal way and your way. You’ll be able to tell if anyone has opened it. And even that doesn’t mean they suspect you,” he said, and went on to explain, although he saw her patience wearing thin. “The case can be opened accidentally, or by airport security, and the porters may simply do some pilfering, but better to know this and be alert.”
    Up to now everything has gone all right, she told herself, exactly the same as at any other airport. And yet everything felt different. The fear was real, and the price of failure would be terrible. This wasn’t a case of another exercise, or crossing a border in Europe. Her teeth chattered despite the heat and she clenched her jaws to hide the tremor. Rachel took the last step and set foot on the searing tarmac to what seemed to her like a trap she was about to fall into, and she was sure that at any moment she would be approached by a tough-looking man in a safari suit who would ask her to enter one of the vehicles that were parked beside the bus, as in the exercise at Ben Gurion Airport.
    A few more paces. She restrained the impulse to look around her, avoiding eye contact with the armed police and security men who stood and scrutinized the passengers. Someone touched her elbow, and she ignored him. If it’s a cop, by now he would have told her to come with him; if it’s a passenger walking behind her, this isn’t the time to look at him angrily. When she almost reached the door of the shuttle bus to the terminal, which seemed to her a point of refuge, it closed and the full vehicle moved off and left her to wait for the next one, exposed to the inquisitive looks around her. She stood with the others and didn’t dare wipe the sweat from her brow. A middle-agedlady who stood beside her said to her in English this was the way things were here, and they needed to wait until the bus had unloaded its passengers, and then it would return for the rest of them. Rachel nodded, didn’t answer, and was glad that in training they acted out a similar scenario in which a passenger latched on to her before passport control, engaged her in conversation, and eventually asked her to help drag her heavy bag through customs. Her refusal earned high marks from the instructors, who were watching her through peepholes. Even the “passenger,” an experienced reservist operative, praised her, and told her she was the first candidate to show herself both affable and determined, not falling into the trap that awaited her, when the bag was opened and found to be full of drugs.
    The bus returned in a cloud of dust and they boarded. A policeman stood near them, and to Rachel it seemed he was looking at her with a quizzical eye. Except for her and a middle-aged passenger, all the others were talking among themselves, and most of them were Arabs. She was aware of being looked at and pressed her legs together under her skirt. The cop took one step forward. The woman who stood behind her whispered a few words but Rachel didn’t hear what she said. A drop of sweat sparkled on her upper lip and she wondered if the cop